Forbidden Sensations: A Dark Romance

by Savannah Rose

  “You can stick it up your–” I was going to say ass, but my throat closed up. It was on fire, now. I couldn't swallow anymore.

  Maddox looked at the class, then at me. “First of all, it wouldn't fit. Second of all, I want you to have it. But it comes at a price, of course.”

  Of course, I thought. Everything came at a price with Maddox Petersen. The man really should have been zipped up in a body bag by now. The fact the he wasn’t was just proof of how unfair the world is.

  “Small price, though, considering…” He stopped and took a sip. I could hear him swallowing. “All you have to do is tell me who you are.” Another swig, long and slow. “For starters.”

  If I said Harper, the lie would not only have been obvious, but lame. If I told him my real name, then the one thing I had at my very limited disposal would be gone.

  If I said nothing, I'd die of thirst. Eventually. And Maddox wasn't dead yet. He wouldn't be dead if I was dead, and that was the most unacceptable outcome possible.

  Maddox was a heartless, power hungry control freak. He played with people, and their lives, as if they were nothing more than tokens on a board game. If he thought he'd broken me…

  ...he'd think he'd won.

  There was so much he didn't know. Not me, not my sister, not the family he'd destroyed.

  I turned my head toward him, slowly. I may have one ace up my sleeve. Sleeves being a relative term at this juncture.

  “Sofia,” I said, looking him dead in the eye.

  Now he just raised one brow. “Really?”

  I kept staring. It was no lie. Not exactly. Sofia was my middle name.

  “Alrighty, then. Sofiaah,” he said, and the way he drew out the last vowel was his way of telling me he didn't believe it.

  He cupped his hand underneath my head, lifting it from the pillow, and held the glass of water an inch from my lips. Then drew it back. “You're lying.”

  I kept my eyes locked on his. Tried to fathom the kind of thoughts that were spinning around his wicked, twisted mind. His eyes were so green, and at this close proximity, I could see little flecks of amber next to the pupils. I began to count them, those flecks, keeping my brain focused and my stare unwavering.

  Maddox expelled a little burst of air through his nostrils, and shook his head. “But, we'll go with that. For now.”

  He touched the rim of the glass to my bottom lip and tipped it up, just enough for a teaspoon's worth to find its way to my mouth. It was cool, and delicious, and coated my throat in sweet relief. I ached for more. Yearned for it, wanted to demand it.

  Maddox put the water back on the nightstand.

  “Now, for the sixty four thousand dollar question. What was the deal with the gun?”

  Twelve flecks. And it looked like he shaved his head on a daily basis. Or had someone do it for him.

  “Aw, Sofeee. Seriously? You're not going to tell me?”

  It bothered him more than he was letting on. Body language is a dead giveaway, and the way he was pulling at his slacks was giving me a definite insight into what ticked him off. Lack of compliance was close to the top of that list.

  “Someone hired you. That's it, isn't it?”

  Those pants were expensive. This asshole spends more on a pair of khakis than most people spend on a week's worth of groceries. If that didn’t make him enough of an asshole, I could think of a thousand other things that did.

  “Yeah. Yeah, that's it. But who? That's the real question.” He laughed, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  Ah, shit, I thought. For a second there I'd thought he'd lost interest. Next would come the belt, then his stupid khakis...

  He was still laughing when he took his shirt off, revealing a bare, rock hard chest that he probably shaved, too.

  “Whoever hired you, I don't think they got their money's worth, Sofee. Not to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but you kinda suck as an assassin.”

  You suck as a human being.

  “I'd be pissed if I was them. Hope they didn't spend a whole lot of money for your… services.”

  Maddox kicked off his shoes, and as I'd expected, the pants were next to go. He wore silk boxers. Red, and shiny. Is anyone surprised? I certainly am not.

  “You're harmless, Sofee. A harmless little flea on the dog's ass of life.”

  He crawled into bed, and sidled up next to me. He took my breast in his hand, and squeezed. Not hard. But with the pressure one would use to hold a bird without crushing it. Or letting it go.

  I made up my mind that I wouldn't move; that I would not struggle. That would just make him happy and that was the last thing this man would be, if I still had anything to say about it.

  He leaned down and parted his lips, taking my nipple in his mouth, and sucking on it. His tongue rolled over against it, flicking it rapidly, then easing back to suckle again.

  I stared at the ceiling, at that camera. Was he recording this? The red light wasn't on. He was certainly the type of game-playing asshole that would, and when his other hand grabbed my other breast, his fingers mimicking the same motions of his tongue, I caught my breath.

  “...yeah, she likes that,” he whispered.

  I threw my head back, and screamed. My entire body went rigid, as if I were having a seizure.

  Maddox flew off of me like I'd set him on fire.

  “What?” he shouted.

  The guttural, horrific shrieking was more than my throat could take, but there was no stopping it. Screeching, and thrashing as much as the restraints would allow, I bellowed; “C-c-cramp!” and bit down on my tongue.

  “Jesus, Jesus Christ, where?” he looked shocked.

  Maddox didn't do scared, I didn't think, but shocked could be in his emotional repertoire, I was pretty sure.

  I screamed again, the tears starting to come hot and full force.

  “...leg...” I whimpered, the sorrowful tone of a bear cub caught in a trap. Then I screamed from the top of my lungs once more.

  He jumped, that time. And scrambled to the foot of the bed, his hands fumbling to untie the silk scarves Frick and Frack used to bind me to the shackles.

  The screams wouldn't stop, they couldn't stop, and the more he couldn't untie the knots, the more I groaned in pure, terrible anguish.

  Tears streamed down my face, and I'd bitten my tongue so hard it had started to bleed. Saliva mixed with that taste of copper. A line of pale, ruddy spittle ran from the corner of my mouth. For all intents and purposes, it appeared as though I was in the middle of a severe, epileptic fit.

  “Fuck, shit, fuck!” Maddox cursed, and finally, finally, the silk fell from my right leg. A few agonizing moments later, my left leg was also freed.

  My leg was numb from the hips down, the muscles all but locked, from being in tied up for so long. It took the greatest of efforts for me to bend my knees, twist awkwardly to the side, and lay in a half fetal position as I gasped, and tried to catch my breath, and wished I hadn't screamed so loud.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Maddox shouted, running his hands across his scalp. “Oh, my God. Oh, my fucking hell…”

  I hitched in breath after haggard breath. The foam of blood and spit coated my lips, and formed a disgusting pink puddle on the pillow.

  I twitched.

  “Sofia,” he said. “Sofia!” he yelled, pulled my head to the side, and was met by a dead, fisheye stare. My hitching breath came slower, and slower.

  It was hard to breathe in a position such as this. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and my lids fluttered closed.

  “Mother-fucker son of a bitch bastard,” he hissed, pulling open the nightstand drawer and fishing out the keys.

  He unlocked one cuff, then the other. My arms were entirely limp, and dropped to the mattress. The sound they made reminded me of wet sandbags.

  They felt as though they were inflated, somehow. Big, sinewy balloons. So weird. So very, very weird.

  I wanted to try to move my fingers, but not yet. Not yet. I was try
ing to put off the awful sensation of pins and needles as blood flow returned to my veins. I couldn’t. That’s not to say that these were pins and needles, though. They weren’t. These were knives. Knives and fucking razorblades.

  Maddox put his hand beneath my neck in order to keep my airway open. My breathing was still labored, my lungs unable to fill completely.

  “This is from a fucking cramp? A fucking cramp?” Maddox seethed, and somewhere deep, deep down in his voice, I heard fear. Genuine fear.

  I tried to wiggle my toes. His face was still near mine, I could tell, so he wouldn't see me. They moved, just a little. Those tiny blades were still coursing through my legs, but were ebbing. And even though it was risky, I curled my fingers. Released. Curled them again.

  “...wa-ter...” my voice creaked like a rusty door.

  He sat bolt upright, and grabbed the glass. Which, by this time, was empty.

  “God fucking damn it,” he swore, and ran to the bathroom.

  The faucet came on, and I remained exactly where I was.

  I gave my arms a quick shake, all systems almost go, and did the same with my legs. They were back with me. Nearly. I went statue still when the water shut off.

  Rag doll, I reminded myself.

  When you fall off the beam, or the uneven bars, or wherever, don't try to break your fall. Break your fall, break your arm. That's what Coach Roberts always said. She was a former stunt woman, so she should know.

  Maddox put his arm around my shoulders, and helped me to a sitting position. I didn’t help him to move me. In fact, a corpse would have been more ambulatory.

  Slowly, oh so slowly, I reached for the glass, telling my fingers they weren't sure how to hold on to it. My fingers complied, barely, and required Maddox's help, at first, to bring the water to my lips.

  I took a small sip. Then another.

  The liquid was an oasis in the desert of my throat. I permitted my hand to act a wee bit stronger, and brought the other to the glass. It was perfectly logical to need two hands to lift a drink of water to my mouth, given what the fucktard had done to me.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, impatient. Pissed. I'd ruined the little game he was trying to play before it had even really gotten started.

  I closed my eyes, and didn't nod. I didn’t shake my head either.

  I took in a gasp of air, and let it fill my chest, then I finished the last of the water, and smashed the glass against the side of his head.

  That's the thing about Waterford crystal. Sure, it's pretty, but it's not made to withstand any sort of impact.

  I have a set of Smurfs tumblers I got at a gas station that have survived three moves, one earthquake, and more than a few benders. Waterford crystal, on the other hand, not so hardy.

  The glass shattered beautifully against his face, and sent him flying off the bed. He landed with a thud on the expensive hardwood flooring – on the side of the bed that was closest to the door – but I could make it.

  I had three seconds, give or take. He was holding the side of his face, blood seeping through his fingers, and grabbing at the nightstand to pull himself back up.

  I leapt over him, and landed far more gracefully than an ox like him could ever aspire. It was great. It was perfect. A split second image of me raising my arms in an athlete's victory pose flashed through my head.

  I spun around, still quick as a jack rabbit for being a little rusty, but I was on my way the fuck out of here. Which was awesome.

  Until my knee collapsed.

  Always a problem, that knee. It's what took me out of Olympic contention. An ACL tear at fourteen years old ruined any goals I'd had of becoming the next Mary Lou Retton. And, as it turned out, ruined any chances I had of escaping from Maddox Petersen.

  It was my left knee. Perhaps due to a combination of being immobile for so long and a few years of physical neglect, it gave out after only three strides.

  I slammed onto the floor, my arms extended in front of me like some spastic, half-assed super hero. The impact hurt my bare breasts more than anything. My boobs were another reason why gold medals were not in my future – too big – but the door was only ten, maybe fifteen feet away, and I refused to let something like busted ligaments or aching breasts stop me.

  I had to get out of here, reformulate a plan, avenge my sister and bring justice to a situation in which there was none. I clawed my way across the floor, a desperate horror-movie heroine giving it one last A-for-effort try before the psychopath with the chainsaw carves her into pieces.

  My God, that's what it was like. Even as I reached out for the door handle, thinking I could use it to hoist myself up and at least get into the hallway where I knew the cameras were, I yearned for someone to yell 'cut'.

  If I could just get out of here, get my naked self into the range of security cameras...but would that work? Maddox's security hounds were as sex-crazed as he was. They'd probably enjoy watching.

  I bit down on my lip and lunged for the handle. Just grab it, pull yourself up, and run like a mother fucker on that busted knee. Remember Mary Lou charging down for the vault on her busted knee? She got a perfect ten. I could get a perfect ten.

  I surged forward, and grabbed the handle. Shoved it down, just as a hand latched onto my ankle.

  With all his strength, Maddox pulled me away from the door, flipped me on my back, and hovered over me on all fours. Pinning my wrists to my side, he stared down at me, the gash on his cheek bleeding freely. A droplet landed on my chest. I flinched, because that was just fucking gross, and I squirmed, but he held me down even more severely. He was a big, brick shit house of a man. I didn't have a chance.

  “Here's the thing,” he said, as if he were addressing a conference room full of attentive businessmen. “We both know you're a liar, and now I know you're a really good actress. With both of those elements firmly in place, I can therefore conclude you absolutely cannot be trusted.”

  “Wow. You're smart, Señor Petersen. Is that why you get the big bucks?”

  The corner of his mouth curled into a sneer, creating a little wrinkle of blood in his cheek. He sat back a little, straddling me, and reached behind him for his stupid fucking tie. He took both my wrists in his hand, and began to bind them together.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You were so close, too. But not close enough, obviously. What's up with your leg, anyway? Knee injury?” he paused, then held up his index finger. “Oh, wait. Forget I asked. I don’t think I really care and even if I did, you can't tell the truth, so...” he shrugged, and pulled the tie tighter.

  I figured he was going to toss me back on the bed, hook me to the ring on the headboard and have his way with me. Teach me a lesson only a pig like him could teach. Instead, he pulled me to my feet, and took me to the bathroom.

  “Sit,” he said, pointing to the toilet.

  What did he want? To watch me pee? Even though I had to, that was the sickest thing I'd ever heard.

  “You're a twisted piece of–“

  He slammed the lid down, then slammed me onto it. “Just sit down and shut the fuck up,” he hissed, and pulled the bottom cabinet open.

  He took out a garbage bag and started putting things from the drawers and the shelves into it. Razors, nail clippers, the usual stuff. Stuff I could use to free myself or to hurt him, I guess.

  “In case you get any clever ideas,” he noted, dropping in a nail file while confirming my suspicions.

  “Am I spending the night, Maddy?”

  He cringed when I called him 'Maddy'. I really liked that.

  He threw in his toothbrush, aspirin, even the shelves from the medicine cabinet.

  “Why don't you just call the cops?”

  He took a twist tie and secured his bag together before pulling the washcloth from the rack, and cleaning the wound on his cheek.

  “That's a very logical suggestion, Sofia” he said, running the water over the cloth, and dabbing at his face. “The cops would take you away, though. Lock you up, throw away the key.” He s
hut off the water, and smiled at me as devilishly as he could. “But that's going to be my job,” he said.

  A flutter of nerves blew through my stomach, leaving me feeling even more uneasy than I’d felt this entire time.

  “You afraid of a trial, Maddy? The media finding out what kind of luna-fucking-tick you are?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t exactly say I give a fuck what the media thinks. Besides, my little fetishes aren't illegal.”

  “They are if you're doing them to someone against their will.”

  “What you did is against the law. Pulling a gun on someone with the intent to kill them. I believe that's known as premeditated murder. Attempted murder, too. Both of which are against the law, in case you’re wondering. Oh, and wait, let's not forget breaking and entering. Your list goes on, Sofee. Needless to say it's just going to boil down to your word against mine. And my word is worth a hell of a lot more than yours,” he grinned, wincing just a bit. “All those conspiracy theories you hear about judges being bought and the court systems rigged…? They’re not theories. In fact, they’re all true. I can have you committed with one swipe of my pen across my check-book.”

  “Nobody uses checks anymore.”

  “I like your style, Sofee.” He tossed the washcloth into the trash can, thought better of it, then took the whole wastebasket and his big bag of toiletries to the door. “It’s such a pity I can't say you'll think the same of mine.” He gave himself a moment to ogle me some more, his eyes smiling as they locked on my chest. I covered myself the best I could. “Good night, honey. Sweet dreams.”

  He blew me a kiss, shut off the light, and locked the door behind him.

  So there we had it. Another plan of mine foiled. And I had no one to blame but myself.

  I don't know what led me to believe I could be some action hero, an exalted martyr, willing to sacrifice everything in order to exact a brutal retaliation on the evil Maddox Petersen.

  This was no fairy tale, no movie or hit Netflix series. This was just me and my underwear, sitting on a low-flush toilet, tied up and locked in a billionaire's bathroom. At least he didn't stick me on the stupid bidet.